


Of Gloves and Warming Charms

by lipeviez, rice_and_beans



Series: My Fleurmione Week 2020 [5]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Attraction, Day 7: FREE, F/F, First Time, Romance, fleurmione - Freeform, fleurmioneweek2020
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-09
Updated: 2020-09-16
Packaged: 2021-03-07 03:14:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26370076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lipeviez/pseuds/lipeviez, https://archiveofourown.org/users/rice_and_beans/pseuds/rice_and_beans
Summary: The Smartest Witch of Her Age finds her Gryffindor bravery being put to the test as an irresistible attraction to a visiting French student turns her mind to mush. Hermione Granger, who always does as she should to be a model student and witch, is faced with a choice: ask and take that which she most wants and desires, or let this uncertain chance pass her by.
Relationships: Fleur Delacour/Hermione Granger
Series: My Fleurmione Week 2020 [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1908091
Comments: 92
Kudos: 363
Collections: Fleurmione Week 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The Triwizard Tournament is set during Hermione’s sixth year. 
> 
> Lipeviez here, and I just wanted to say I had a blast writing this with rice_and_beans. She is awesome and so, so talented. Also, we’re dedicating this to our thirsty fleurmione server members as a cap to an amazing first fleurmione week.
> 
> Day 7: Free

Hermione Granger did not suffer fools. Or more accurately, she did not _want_ to suffer fools and she hated that she did. Her two best friends, Harry and Ron, were some of the biggest. Always getting into trouble, always running into danger instead of away from it, finding their heads turned by pretty girls when they should have been focused on their schoolwork. She thought that they would’ve grown out of it given that the three of them were in sixth year now but she was wrong. They were idiots, plain and simple. But they were her idiots.

Not that she’d had much experience with girls. Or any for that matter. She’d only realized she liked girls last summer, after all. Hermione resisted the wince at the memory of the girl Claire whom she met in France during a family holiday there. It was only a few days of meetings for coffee and shopping while her parents did their own sightseeing, but Claire was so fun and interesting, Hermione tried to hang out with her as much as she could. But the night before Claire’s flight back to America, she’d asked Hermione to sneak out with her after dinner to catch a late showing of a film at the local theater and they could walk the city streets afterwards, taking in the nightlife. It seemed like too much trouble just to see a movie and she told her so. Claire seemed hurt and Hermione hadn’t understood why at the time. They said their goodbyes and didn’t keep in touch. It was later in the summer as she recounted the tale to Ginny that her young friend pointed out all the things Claire had done to flirt with her. The witty banter, the touches, the smiles, her attempt at a final date. And as they were pointed out, Hermione realized she had liked all those things, too. That the flutter in her chest with Claire had been attraction and she’d been oblivious the whole time. Hermione wished she had known Claire liked her. She wished she had done something about it.

The experience taught her two things. One, she liked girls. And two, she should pay more attention to these things and not lose her head.

So yes, now she noticed pretty girls just like Harry and Ron did. She just didn’t want them to turn her brain into mush. What was the point of romance if one couldn’t function properly while experiencing it?

Still, those Beauxbatons girls were quite beautiful. When she looked at them, whispers entered her ear saying it would be okay to be mush for a little while. Their uniforms were stylish but so impractical for the weather here. Those hats, almost silly. Those gloves, were they even warm? They didn’t look warm. How warm would they feel if she touched one?

Fighting a blush, Hermione sighed at the blank piece of parchment in front of her, her hand loosely holding a quill that had been ready for use for an unknown length of time.

What was that again about functioning?

She sighed. Hermione lost track of time again. Her thoughts often wandered to the female students from Beauxbatons. Well, it was just the one. The one who stuck up her nose at everything; the one who turned Ron into a purple, gurgling mess.

Fleur Delacour.

So maybe she had been letting her head be turned by a pretty girl more than she let on.

She often caught the blonde girl looking at her from across the Great Hall during mealtimes. Fleur would also glance at her as they passed in the halls, or out in the courtyard. In fact, it happened so often, they managed to make a schedule out of it. Two times in the halls before lunch, one time in the main courtyard in the afternoon, and every few days out by the Black Lake. She was never sure if the girl knew how much she looked forward to these planned glances. (Unplanned. She meant to think ‘unplanned’.)

Hermione also didn’t know if Fleur knew how she looked for her when she wasn’t there.

Outside was her preferred place to see her. Hermione loved rolling her eyes at every shiver she’d see run through Fleur and her friends. They would either clench blue-gloved hands into fists at their sides or blow their hot breath into them instead. Didn’t they know how to cast a warming charm? Should she show them? Maybe use one of their gloves as an example? Would Fleur let her?

Blinking, she looked down again at the blank piece of parchment. She’d lost track of time again.

Setting down the quill, Hermione stared at the open books laid out in front of her, the piles of books she’d pulled out of the shelves, and the unwritten essay she was supposed to do for Potions. She pushed back from the table and looked around.

The library was busy and she frowned as she wondered if any Beauxbatons students had come and gone while she was lost in thought, if she’d missed Fleur. She checked a nearby clock and quickly packed up. It was time to go sit in a courtyard to read. Today’s plan was to choose a more secluded spot, an out of the way courtyard that only had one way in and out.

Delacour would have to go out of her way to get to this courtyard. And she would have no good reason to be there.

What would it mean if she did?

Hermione blushed. She soon found a place to settle with her things. She sat down with her opened book and waited. Her pulse quickened when she heard the familiar clicking of low-heeled shoes. More than one set. Fleur wasn’t alone.

_Oh well._

She still smiled triumphantly into her book as the group of French girls walked by nonchalantly. When she looked up, her heart stopped.

Fleur was holding the hand of another girl as they walked by. Hermione supposed that was one way to keep hands warm. But she still scowled at the way they were so easily clasped. She imagined her own being held by the blonde’s, feeling the silky blue material of the glove.

What would it feel like in her hand?

What would it feel like pressed against her cheek?

Looking up, she saw the victorious glint in Fleur’s eyes as they passed.

 _So it was like that, was it?_ Hermione thought to herself with a smirk. She counted in her head, waiting for the clacking shoes to stop when they figured out there was no exit. The courtyard fell silent and Hermione had to bite the inside of her cheek hard to keep from laughing. Then she heard harsh whispers as Fleur consulted with her friends. The clicking heels began again as they headed back the way they came.

Glancing up, Hermione expected to see the backsides of blue uniforms walking away and was startled to see Fleur standing still, not fifteen feet away, and watching her. Begrudged respect swirled in blue eyes and the brunette bit her lip, not quite hiding the smirk trying to break free. Hermione nodded, acknowledging her small victory and Fleur’s acceptance of it, but instead of turning to follow her friends, Fleur took one step closer.

The Gryffindor was at a loss for words. She had laid this trap, but did not plan far enough ahead. Her daydreaming had ended here: Fleur would follow, and then, and then? The smirk that fell from her face moments ago seemed to fly away and manifest on Fleur’s. The Beauxbatons student stood just a short distance away, one arm akimbo, and gaze intent on the brunette. 

The woman advanced again. One step. Two. Onward. Each click and clack seemed to command the rhythm of Hermione’s heartbeat, until Fleur was standing directly in front of her. So close that if she wanted to, the blonde could reach out with a gloved hand and touch her, or Hermione could reach out herself. 

Eyes were locked: Hermione looking up at Fleur; Fleur looking down at Hermione.

This was much more than the sum of all their passing glances. 

A gentle breeze danced around them. Hermione found her breath. 

“So-”

“Well-”

“Hermione!” The two women looked to the entrance of the courtyard, sights landing on a panting and red-faced Ronald Weasley. 

“Oh.” He straightened up when he noticed Fleur was also in the courtyard. An awkward and goofy grin began to make its way onto his face, that is until he noticed the proximity of the two witches. 

“What’s going on here?” he asked as he began to march over to them. His gaze flickered only momentarily on the blonde. Hermione stood up, prepared for a confrontation. She knew the signs. She decided to try to head it off before it began.

“Nothing! Nothing is going on, Ron. What are you doing here? What do you need?” 

“What am I doing here? Looking for you. You stood me up! We were supposed to meet in the library and you were going to help me with my potions essay. Instead you’re here with… _her._ ” Ron gestured toward the Beauxbatons champion with a quick jerk of his head. 

“Pardon?” Piercing blue eyes honed in on the redhead. Hermione did not want the blonde to get dragged into this nonsense. She stepped forward, subtly placing herself between Fleur and Ron. 

“Ronald Weasley. We made no such plans! _You_ wanted to see me so that _you_ could copy _my_ essay. I told you I’m not allowing that anymore.” Her irritation quickly gave way to nervousness that she did her best to conceal with arms folded firmly in front of her chest. She could feel Fleur’s presence edge closer behind her. Hermione was suddenly very hot. Keeping her eyes trained on Ron, she willed him to drop it and leave the two of them alone again. If she just turned around she would be close enough to… she wasn’t sure what she would be brave enough to do then, but they would be very close.

“That’s not right! Leaving your best mate out to dry just so you can, what? Make eyes at a pretty girl? I’ve seen the way you look at her, that’s right. It’s not natural, Hermione. Two witches? She’s got thrall! You know what she is, don’t you?” 

Whispers and murmurs were heard at the entrance of the courtyard. A growing body of students who had noticed the commotion had stopped to take in the scene. Black robes and blue robes clamored to see what exactly was going on.

Hermione was absolutely mortified. Ron was being an insensitive and insolent prick. How dare he try to shame her about looking at other witches? And try to out her in front of others? She knew it was a mistake to tell him and Harry that she found the blonde objectively attractive. And how dare he insult Fleur and attack her character that way? She felt the Beauxbatons champion step closer. 

“I believe it is time zat you see yourself out, hm? Per’aps get started on zat potions essay?”

The woman had class, Hermione had to give her that. She was even-toned and did not rise to the insults that Ron was giving. She stood poised and had a powerful presence. Hermione had half a mind to try to get a rise out of Fleur herself if they ever got the chance to be alone again; become the subject of her gaze and instruction. She watched and hid her satisfaction as Ron became increasingly red in the face. He was almost turning purple as he tried to come up with something to say to Fleur, but he just couldn’t manage anything. For a moment the brunette felt bad for him, but that ended quickly. 

“Hermione, she’s using you! Quit making a fool of yourself and consorting with the enemy. Come with me!” Ron took a step back but held out his hand to her. 

“Using me? Are you dense? What could she possibly be using me for?” Hermione asked incredulously. 

“For what? So she can get ahead in the tournament! For your brain, what else? You think she’s actually interested? She’s Veela, she wants a man, not some… some… bushy haired, know-it-all, _lesbian_!” 

A silence fell over the courtyard. Hermione’s blood ran cold. He had insinuated it before, but now had truly outed her -at least enough for strong speculation and gossip- to the student body and to Fleur Delacour herself. Ron seemed compelled to fill the quiet.

“And you’re better than that, smarter than that, Hermione. You can’t really want a witch over... over…”

Hermione was seething with rage and flushed with embarrassment. She felt a firm and reassuring grasp on her shoulder. Tense muscles relaxed. She turned her head to look at Fleur. Fleur, with her face as passive and unreadable as ever, positioned herself next to Hermione and in front of Ron. She let go of Hermione’s shoulder and the Gryffindor immediately missed the contact.

Fleur Delacour kept her eyes fixed on Ronald Weasley as one hand steadily reached toward the opposite to begin to remove one Beauxbatons-blue, satin glove. Hermione’s eyes tracked each intentional movement, as one glove-covered, dexterous hand gently tugged the other glove at the tip of each finger. As she pulled the glove smoothly to remove it, Hermione’s gaze drifted along with it as she took in the expanse of fair skin. The glove was off. Then Fleur took Hermione further off guard by firmly pressing the blue cloth into the bookworm’s hands. It was soft. It was warm. It was Fleur’s. 

"Hold this for me, chèrie," was all the blonde said as her eyes remained fixed on the purpling boy before her. 

A delicate, uncovered right hand elegantly reached for the still-covered left, and in one swift and effortless movement, slid the remaining glove off. The sound was tantalizing. Hermione swallowed, then reached out, palm up, ready to receive the article, but Fleur did not hand it over. Instead she whipped it into the newly revealed hand, then lifted and bobbed it up and down a few times, as if weighing down to evaluate it, and seemed to briefly ponder her next course of action. Fleur’s head snapped back up to the redhead.

"Ronald Weasley, oui?" the French witch asked. Ron nodded stiffly. 

Before Hermione knew what was happening, Fleur advanced one step, raised the blue glove, and then snapped it forward with force, effectively slapping Ron across the face with a crisp and resounding 'thwack.' Gasps erupted from the crowd.

"Ronald Weasley of 'Ogwarts," the Beauxbatons champion began with a confident and commanding voice. "For your despicable treatment of 'Ermione Granger, and in 'er honor, I challenge you to a duel. Do you accept?" 

Hermione was flabbergasted. She clutched the gifted glove to her chest. She should really intervene, she thought to herself, but found no words coming from her lips; no effort to move coming from her feet. Fleur did not await a response from the dumbstruck boy. She turned on the spot, walked twenty paces away, about-faced, and bowed. 

Hermione’s eyes snapped back to Ron only when she heard something clatter to the ground. His wand. Snickers were heard throughout the audience of students and Hermione tried not to roll her eyes at his clumsy efforts. Ron frantically dove to grab his wand only to accidentally kick it farther away. When he finally did manage to get a hold of it, he grasped it firmly between two shaking hands and turned to take in the challenging Veela. 

The blonde’s face was void of any emotion. Her only acknowledgement of Ron’s graceless fumbling was a quirked eyebrow. Where he stood hunched and uncertain, Fleur stood tall and unflinching. Her athletic legs were steady, with one foot in front of the other, as if ready to prance. With glove in one hand at her hip, she drew her wand arm out long and extended to her side. If anyone had thought to ask Hermione, she would have said that Fleur looked absolutely magnificent. She couldn’t look away, couldn’t even be bothered to check on her redheaded friend when fumbling hands turned into choking and garbled noises as he tried to sputter out a spell. Instead she studied Fleur as she began a series of fluid movements of attack. 

If she had turned away for even just a moment she would have missed the whole performance. Fleur’s wand arm deftly dropped, swooped, arched overhead and then shot forward as she spun with agile steps. A wordless stunner struck Ron right in the gut, doubling him over and causing him to drop to his hands and knees, and then face-first into the dirt. His impotent wand jounced and rolled away. The Veela lowered her wand and straightened. The clacking of her heels against stone echoed through the silent courtyard as she strode forward to the defeated boy. He lamely looked up at her when she stopped in front of him, and her previously stoic features flashed her first show of emotions since she issued the challenge. It was gone as quick as it came, but Hermione saw it. Disgust. Perhaps contempt. 

Whispers and echoes of chuckling laughter gradually built until Ron, his face beet red, scrambled to his wand and then ran away, pushing through the students watching him. They soon followed. All except Fleur and Hermione.

The Veela didn’t look at her at first, instead holstering her wand and looking at the ground. Her chest rose and fell with deep breaths, no doubt trying to calm herself from the rush of adrenaline. Hermione’s heart was still pounding. The blonde could’ve hurt him, really hurt him, but she maintained control and ended it quickly. It was an elegant display. Powerful yet restrained. In that moment she knew why the Goblet had chosen her.

Fleur Delacour was without a doubt the most stunning witch she’d ever seen.

Then blue eyes met hers and Hermione found her heart racing even faster. She could feel the tension growing between them and she wanted to laugh it off. To thank Fleur for defending her and then flee the courtyard as fast as she could. But those eyes, the way Fleur was still gripping her glove in one hand so tightly she could see her knuckles whitening, she could tell they weren’t done yet.

Hermione’s eyes darted down to the glove Fleur had given her to hold. The glove she had long wanted to feel. It wasn’t enough. This need that had been growing within her ever since she saw Fleur demanded more.

She turned and grabbed her bag, closed her eyes briefly and took a deep breath, then locked her eyes on Fleur again as she walked towards her. Blue eyes flickered, searching her face, and Hermione gave a shy smile as she realized that she’d surprised the blonde. This increased her confidence. Tightening her grip on the glove in her hand, she reached out with the other and held her hand out expectantly. Amused, Fleur raised an eyebrow and handed the other glove over. Hermione bounced slightly in nervous excitement. She hoped she knew what she was doing. There was only one way to find out.

Striding quickly towards the way out of the courtyard, she turned slightly and asked, “Are you coming?”

Hermione hurried out, hearing the clicking heels behind her. Losing the Veela wasn’t the plan but she wanted a bit of a head start, so she took advantage of her familiarity with the castle, taking sharp turns and dodging students through different corridors, running up a few staircases. The heels behind her never lost their stride and her excitement was reaching a fever point. There was a particular hidden passageway close to Gryffindor tower that she wanted to get to and they were nearly there. One more turn and she would be out of sight for a few seconds, which was all the time she needed to reach the tapestry and rush inside the passageway.

She dropped her bag and cast a couple of charms: her bluebell charm in a jar she always carried around with her that gave some light to the dark passage, and another which she hoped the blonde would enjoy. Then she listened and waited.

The clicking heels slowed but they were getting closer. Hermione’s already panting breath quickened even more. Surely Fleur would hear her but being found was the whole point so she didn’t care. The footfalls stopped but nothing happened. She had expected a voice to call out for her or some sort of magic to find her. She frowned. Had Fleur given up?

Hermione silently moved close to the tapestry, held her breath, and strained her ears. There was no sound. Just as she was about to exhale in disappointment, the tapestry pulled back and Fleur stepped in, a bright smile on her face. Fleur cast a silencing charm and Hermione stepped away from her and backed up against the wall to make room. She smiled when Fleur followed to stand right in front of her.

“Were you ‘iding from me, chèrie?”

“Not at all. You have quite the knack of finding me wherever I am. I was only waiting,” the Gryffindor quipped.

Fleur quirked an eyebrow and cocked her head.

“Like you were earlier in zat courtyard. Zat was a clever trap you laid.”

“I’m glad you think so,” Hermione quickly replied, glad that her mind was still with her so far.

Fleur raised an arm and placed her hand against the wall on one side of Hermione’s head.

“Is zis also a trap?” the blonde whispered.

Her heart stuttered when she saw Fleur’s eyes glance at her lips before darting back up for eye contact. She was so beautiful. The glow from the blue flame softened her somehow and created enticing shadows across her face. Hermione wanted to trace them with her fingers. 

“I wanted to thank you for what you did, for not hurting him. And I thought this would be a better place for us to be alone.”

“Oh? And why is zat?” Fleur asked, ignoring her reference to the duel.

Hermione blinked rapidly, words trapped in her throat. She thought this part would be easy. Fleur would make a move and she would eagerly acquiesce for her first kiss and that would be that. She didn’t know how to do the move-making. Sidestepping the opening Fleur left for her, she jumped to her gift and raised up the gloves that were still in her hand. Fleur looked at them, perplexed.

“Here. Put them on.”

The blonde opened her mouth to speak but she seemed to change her mind. Shrugging, she took the gloves. Hermione tried to look away but she was fascinated with the way Fleur slowly pulled each one on. She got lost in the movement and when she looked back into blue eyes, they were dancing in the firelight, as if the girl had discovered something revealing. Hermione hoped it was a good thing.

“Well?” Hermione asked shyly.

“It is a warming charm. I use one all ze time.”

“But do you use one that adjusts the heat based on the outer temperature that the fabric feels?”

Fleur chuckled, impressed. “Again, so clever. And ‘ow shall I test it, mademoiselle?”

“Hermione Granger.”

“Oh yes, I know. And je m’appelle Fleur Delacour. Now zat introductions are done, let’s test ze effectiveness of zis charm of yours.”

The Veela placed both gloved hands on the wall on either side of Hermione’s head and inched closer.

“C’est merveilleux. Zey are warmer against ze cold stone.”

Hermione’s heart hammered in her chest with the close proximity to Fleur. The soft breath on her face made her whole body heat up. Again, Fleur was waiting for her to make the next move, to lead them forward or make a face-saving escape. And she could end it right here so easily. Step out from behind the tapestry and wish Fleur well on the rest of the tournament. But that wasn’t what she really wanted. That wasn’t why she led Fleur here. Finding her courage at last, she spoke again.

“Now… touch my cheek.”

Fleur smiled coyly and brought her right hand down, tracing a finger along Hermione’s cheek. Hermione felt the smooth satin, cool on her face, travel down her neck next. She gasped at the sensation, feeling the temperature of the glove change as it moved back up to her cheek, caressing her with the palm of the hand.

“Do you like it?” Hermione whispered, feeling warm and a bit dizzy. “I can teach you the spell.”

“Oui, I would like zat,” Fleur replied distractedly. “Where else, ‘Ermione?” The Veela inched her body even closer to Hermione’s until their chests were touching. Both were breathing heavily now.

“Touch my lips,” murmured Hermione under her breath, tilting her face upwards.

Fleur moved her hand until her index finger ran across her lower lip, tugging it down slightly. Hermione had the urge to take those gloved fingers into her mouth and it looked as if Fleur read her mind. Blue eyes closed tightly as she pulled her hand away. Hermione could see how much strain the blonde was under, how she was trying to hold herself back. While she appreciated the effort, she was done with restraint.

Hermione pressed forward and kissed her. Soft lips parted in surprise and then the next thing she knew her arms were wrapped around Fleur’s back as the girl pressed her harder against the wall.

The kiss was tentative at first and then Hermione earned a gasp from the blonde when she slid her tongue under her top lip. Fleur deepened the kiss and hands started to roam. Hermione loved the silky feel of Fleur’s uniform. She could feel every curve of her and it still wasn’t enough. She wanted Fleur closer. Her hands moved lower and when they reached the small of her back, she hesitated, unsure whether her escalation would be welcomed, not used to initiating and taking what she wanted. But when Fleur took Hermione’s lower lip in between her teeth, hesitance was replaced by instinct and she grabbed her ass, pulling her towards her until Fleur’s thigh slid between her legs.

“Fleur!” she cried out and threw her head back at the sensation. Hermione immediately felt Fleur nibble her way down her neck. Hands pulled and removed her outer robes, and she started fumbling with the Veela’s uniform jacket, needing to reach more skin. It was crazy. Doing this went far beyond what she’d imagined when she decided to lure Fleur here. But right now, with the girl’s hands and mouth on her, she didn’t want to stop.

“’Ermione,” breathed Fleur, pressing in even tighter and panting against her neck in between wet kisses. “Tu mérites plus que ce tunnel sombre. Tu mérites tellement plus.”

“What do you mean?” Hermione panted. She knew a bit of French and understood what the other girl said. This _was_ a dark tunnel, and a quick tumble, with students and teachers just a few feet away, wasn’t what she’d imagined for her first time, but she didn’t know where else they could go.

“Come to ze carriage tonight at midnight and I’ll show you,” answered Fleur, pulling back to look at Hermione. 

“Sneak out?” Hermione squeaked and she immediately blushed at the sound.

Fleur smiled and brought a hand up to Hermione’s neck and she could feel a gloved finger drawing small circles just under her ear. The blonde looked at it for a while before looking back into her eyes.

“Somezing tells me you are quite adventurous, ‘Ermione Granger. Sneaking out seems so small compared to ze adventures you and I could ‘ave.”

Her throat went dry as she searched for a witty reply but then Fleur sighed, pressing her forehead against Hermione’s.

“I understand if you don’t want to. We can move at any pace you want, do what ozer romances do. But zis has been building for a while, oui? You feel it, I feel it, and sometimes you just know. Sometimes ze inevitable needs to ‘appen before everyzing else.”

Hermione would have to borrow Harry’s invisibility cloak and she would have to slip out of the castle undetected. Her mind raced through all the plans she would need to make and she hadn’t even made up her mind yet on whether or not she would do it.

She licked her lips and didn’t know what to say. Fleur stepped back and began straightening her clothes.

“C’est bien. I will not pressure you. But I will ‘ide a key just in case. It will be attached to a white feazer that I will ‘ang on ze rear wheel of ze carriage and disillusion. A simple revelio will reveal it to you.”

“If I come, what do I do once inside?”

Fleur smirked knowingly and began to remove one of her gloves. She took Hermione’s hands in hers and gently closed the brunette’s fingers around the glove. She then leaned in for another quick kiss which Hermione melted against. When she pulled away, Hermione still had the removed glove in her hand.

“Come and find out. Midnight.”

Then the Veela bounded out past the tapestry and was gone.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to my amazing co-author rice_and_beans for all the fun nights writing and editing this chapter. Hope you enjoy.
> 
> R&B here: wanted to take a moment to give a big thanks to Lipeviez not only for all of her amazing words, but also for her patience with me and for her ability to temper my impulse to post! post! post! right away, and instead turn me on to good middle-of-the-night editing and collaboration in Google Docs Cafe. Thanks for all readers and server members for the feedback and encouragement. Enjoy!
> 
> TW: don't read if you have issues with 17 year olds having sex

Hermione slipped out the door that night and immediately shivered as the cold night air enveloped her. She was covered with Harry’s invisibility cloak, but it wasn’t very warm. She was scared to try her warming spell on the magical item as she was unsure about how temperamental its properties were. She would manage, though. She just had to make it across the grounds and to the carriage. 

She couldn’t believe she was actually doing this. Hermione Granger sneaking out in the middle of the night to snog another witch? No, not snog. They had already done that. She was not so naïve; they had reached a tacit understanding. She knew this was going to be so much more. More than she had ever done or permitted herself to think of doing. And with a witch, no less. She couldn’t believe she was actually doing this.

This wouldn’t be happening if Fleur hadn’t so slyly slipped one of her gloves to her before she disappeared out of the hidden passageway; the way the blonde pressed it into her palms so knowingly. Hermione could have walked away after the kiss and the almost-more if it wasn’t for that damned glove she kept in her pocket for the rest of the day. The pocket she kept reaching into to caress and finger satin fabric. Every time her fingers ran over it, in class, in the halls and at dinner, bits and pieces of their stolen moment would flood into her: Fleur’s soft and sensuous lips, the wicked taste of her sweet mouth, and the unholy delicious feel of her body as it pressed against Hermione and trapped her against the wall. 

At one very unfortunate (or fortunate) instance during dinner, Hermione had looked up and locked eyes with the Beauxbatons champion at the exact moment she dipped her hand into her pocket again. She stroked the fabric and Fleur raised an eyebrow. Did she know? Hermione did it again and it almost looked as if Fleur was holding back a smirk. Then the blonde raised a gloved hand and ran it across her own lips before looking away and answering some unheard question by a student sitting nearby. It was too much for Hermione. She got up, stammered out some flimsy excuse to her friends, and left the hall. 

When she got back to her dorm she stuffed the glove into her trunk and tried to ignore it and Harry’s invisibility cloak which she had asked for earlier. But when she laid down in her bed it was as if both items were calling to her, taunting her. She tossed and she turned, trying to think of anything else, replaying in her mind what Fleur had said about doing what other romances do. Those words reassured her that Fleur wanted more than a dalliance. Their connection could start off with conversations and dates, if she wanted. And she did want those things with the French witch. She found Fleur incredibly fascinating, her display of power earlier in the duel, her care in making sure she wasn’t being pushed too fast in the passageway. Hermione wanted to know everything about her. This was good. A safe starting point. Just when she thought she’d settled her mind, her thoughts kept going back to what Fleur would do to her if she went to the carriage that night. The inevitable she spoke of. More skin being touched and caressed by satin. More of her soft mouth. Hermione clenched her eyes shut and willed herself some semblance of control, but it wasn’t long before she shot out of bed, unlatched the trunk, and took the glove out. 

Every time she had stroked over the smooth material she thought about how it had felt stroking across her skin. Fleur Delacour had left her a haunted glove that would not stop evoking images and sensations that set Hermione on fire. That was what decided it. That was why she was out here in the cold night air just before midnight. 

Hermione fingered the glove before sliding it onto her hand, drawing from it what strength she could to again tip the balance. Fleur’s whispered words and sultry voice echoed in her mind. She continued her journey, moving forward in the direction of the carriage, and arrived in less time than she imagined it would take. Recalling Fleur’s words, she crept around to the rear before drawing out her wand. 

“Revelio,” she whispered. 

And there it was, just as the older witch had promised. It wasn’t as if she doubted Fleur would follow through, she just couldn’t comprehend how she had chosen Hermione of all people. The Gryffindor also couldn’t comprehend how she herself had allowed this to get so far. She had always done what was expected and beyond; always was the model student; always focused solely on academics; never did anything that didn’t serve to advance her studies and career prospects, or to help others do the same; never allowed desire to come forth, let alone first; never felt a need like this before. 

Hermione reached out and took the feather. It was elegant. She briefly wondered what bird Fleur had taken it from and how she got it. When she ran her uncovered fingers over the downy and vein she felt a tingling sensation run up her arm and into her chest. She let out a small gasp. _Curious._ She would have to ask Fleur what kind of bird indeed. 

She followed the long string tied to the feather down to the metal key it was fastened to. It felt heavy, but she wasn’t sure if it was because of its mass or because of the weight of what was going to happen once she entered the carriage. Hermione reminded herself not to be naïve. She knew what this meant. Why she had come. What was waiting for her inside. And she wanted it. Badly. 

Hermione was a giver and a taker. She gave time and guidance to her classmates. She took from her professors and the library everything they had to offer. Gave to the school in her service as prefect, and took from it all of the opportunities and avenues it would grant her. Could she take this? This chance? What would Fleur take from her? Give to her? In Fleur’s taking, what pleasure would she give? What would she allow Hermione to plunder from her? This woman who could teach her so many things; and Hermione, the ever earnest and willing student. 

The key pulsed with heat and it brought the Gryffindor back to her senses. She shivered in the cold. It was now or never. Strengthening her resolve, she made her way to the entrance of the carriage, pushed the metal into the keyhole, twisted until clack, turned the doorknob, and slipped inside. 

She found herself in a dark foyer lit up only by the moonlight coming in through the windows, illuminating everything in a soft blue that was as eerie as it was beautiful. Her heart was hammering in her chest as she looked around for Fleur, but she saw no one. She jumped at the chime of a clock somewhere out of sight as it sounded the arrival of midnight. Despite knowing she was still covered by the invisibility cloak, Hermione instinctively ducked low to avoid detection. Her hands were clenched to her chest and she tried to steady her ragged breath, and then she saw a light coming toward her from down the hall. 

A small, white ball of light no bigger than a sickle quickly found her. She dared not move, but it was bouncing around her in persistence. Perhaps this was what Fleur meant? She stood and the little ball of light returned in the direction from whence it came. Hermione followed, marveling at the sheer size of the entry hall, the ornate staircases that led up, the off-to-the-side salons and study areas filled with lush chairs and chaise lounges. She figured it had to be an advanced version of the Undetectable Extension Charm and was impressed. Temporarily losing sight of her lighted guide, it quickly found her again and led her up a staircase and deep into the carriage until she reached a single door. When she stood before it, the little ball of light extinguished.

Hermione glanced over her shoulder down the hall to make sure it was empty. She removed the cloak, wiped sweaty palms on her jeans, and then ran a hand through her hair. Should she knock? What if the noise woke someone up? But wouldn’t it be rude to just enter without knocking? She thought back to their tryst earlier in the day. Fleur had appeared to appreciate her boldness, and was very direct about what was to happen. The Gryffindor made her decision, gathered herself, and entered the room. 

The room was lit with the soft glow of flickering blue flames in jars dotted about. The sight that greeted the young witch almost brought her to her knees. Fleur was standing in front of a floor length mirror dressed in a short, thin blue robe, with long hair braided loosely and resting over her shoulder. Hermione’s eyes tracked up slender calves and strong thighs until fabric appeared and cut off the view just before it became indecent. The brunette swallowed, heart rate picking up as she continued her visual journey further up Fleur’s body, taking in curves that hinted at the promise of pleasure. 

When her eyes met Fleur’s in the mirror, Hermione felt her face flush with heat at being caught ogling the blonde in such a way. She felt no better than many of the students who objectified and stared with lust at the Beauxbatons champion, but her self-doubt and guilt were cut off by a smile and appreciative hum from the Veela. 

“I like it when you look at me like zat,” she said in a low voice as if she heard Hermione’s thoughts. 

The brunette caught the faint shudder in Fleur as she spoke, a reaction that revealed exactly how much Hermione’s gaze affected her.

Hermione continued to watch Fleur’s reflection as graceful hands, one gloved, one bare, began to play with the end of the long blonde braid. The beautiful woman was smiling and looking right back. She bit her lip before turning around to face the younger witch, and dropped her robe to the floor. A matching set of black lace lingerie, a toned frame, and so much beautiful and luscious skin greeted her. 

She let out an undignified noise at the vision. Her mouth remained agape as Fleur began a slow walk toward her. Breathing became increasingly difficult the closer she got, until finally the older witch was in front of her. Hermione felt a smooth, satin-covered finger trace along her jaw and then press up lightly to close the brunette’s mouth.

“Do you like ze blue flames? I could not quite figure out ze spell you used in ze passageway, so I ‘ad to research and improvise.”

Hermione could only nod dumbly. She was at a loss for words. Fleur Delacour was standing almost naked in front of her. She was so very close. So close she could feel the heat of the other woman radiating off of her. So close she could hear the quickened pace of her breath accompanied by the hypnotizing rise and fall of the swell of her breasts. A thought crossed Hermione’s mind: Fleur might be nervous too, at the very least just as excited as Hermione felt. It reminded her not to discount what she had observed during their kiss, how responsive Fleur had been to her touch. Her lack of experience didn’t mean she had to be passive in this encounter. The idea of that alone filled her with some confidence, and she steeled herself and stood straighter.

“Very clever of you,” Hermione said. 

Letting her instincts guide her, she stepped closer to the blonde, closing the space between them. Sparkling blue eyes gazed into her own, occasionally darting down to Hermione’s lips. Fleur’s eyes did not hide her intent nor shy away from the brunette’s curious stare; instead they waited to see what Hermione would do next. Taking a breath, Hermione’s hands gently touched Fleur’s before gliding them slowly up the Veela’s arms, noticing the goosebumps that formed as she moved higher. 

“But if you want a more sustainable, a more stable, hotter fire, well, I could teach you,” Hermione’s voice was a near whisper at the end as her hands made their way over shoulders, then followed the line of Fleur’s collarbone. 

“Oui, I would like zat,” the Veela breathed out. 

Hermione let her eyes drop momentarily to Fleur’s covered breasts, before flickering back to meet blue. She moved her hands up until she was gently cupping the blonde’s face, then let her thumb trace over a full bottom lip. Fleur sighed out and her own hands grasped at Hermione’s back. 

“That would be two things I am teaching you,” said the Gryffindor. Fleur’s reactions to her touch were spurring her on. “What can you teach me?”

The blonde’s eyes widened momentarily at her boldness. She let out a small moan and pulled Hermione tighter against her body. 

“Many zings, ma petite lionne. And ze lessons begin tonight.”

Fleur crashed her lips into Hermione’s and they let the kiss consume them. Hands roamed and pulled and clenched and the younger witch needed more more more. So much skin. So much soft and smooth skin. Hermione needed to feel it against her own. As if reading her thoughts, Fleur withdrew her mouth and dropped her hands to grab the bottom of Hermione’s shirt. She looked into brown eyes before moving further. The brunette nodded. 

“First you must learn to let your mind go and let your body take ze lead.”

Fleur’s hands let go of the fabric and instead slipped underneath and palmed Hermione’s hips before sliding up her sides. Hermione cried out in surprise and her head began to spin; the contrast between the satin fabric and naked skin sent her reeling. Hands continued up, pushing up her shirt until Fleur grabbed it and pulled it over Hermione’s head. 

It was almost a dance from there. Fleur leaned in and took her lips once again as she slid one arm around Hermione’s waist and the other cradled her upper back. She led the brunette confidently and gracefully across the room until they reached the bed. Hermione found herself gently guided to sit and her legs parted as the blonde stepped forward to close the space between them. She felt fingers rake through her hair, grasp, and tilt her head back. Hermione opened herself further to the woman in front of her, giving and letting Fleur take without a second thought. More kisses, more touches, breathless further. All too soon Fleur pulled away and Hermione found herself staring again at the body of the goddess in front of her, noting several beauty marks kissing across her stomach. She tried hard not to let her eyes linger too long on any one place, not wanting to be disrespectful and also not wanting to look like the gawking, inexperienced person she was. The Veela waited until their eyes met again before speaking.

“Do not be afraid to express your wants and needs. So long as you ask first, zat which you most desire could be yours.” 

Fleur’s hands slowly withdrew from the witch’s back. She took Hermione’s gloved hand in her own and brought it to rest on her shoulder. The Gryffindor’s heart was racing as she took in the sight of it flushed against the fair skin of the Veela. The glove cooled against the rising temperature of the body in front of her. Scared but brave, she followed Fleur’s words.

“May I?” was all she managed to say. She let her hand dip slightly lower, trying to communicate without words. 

“Say it,” Fleur commanded in a low voice. 

“May I- Can I- I want to touch you there.”

The Veela acted with mercy and let go of Hermione’s hand before reaching behind her back and unclasping her bra. She let it fall away and Hermione almost moaned as she took in Fleur’s supple breasts with her eyes. Her hand trembled as it trailed down to caress. The softness, the weight, it was heavenly, but not enough. How she had gone from fantasizing about these gloves earlier in the day to hating the one she was wearing at that moment; a barrier to unrestricted access to the Veela. She immediately took it off and returned her hand to breast. At the feel of touching Fleur so intimately she let out an unexpected groan. Fleur echoed the sound and leaned into her touch, encouraging the brunette to continue. Glancing up, she saw blue eyes close shut, the body above her tightly wound in impatience. Her heart leapt into her throat as she realized how much Fleur desired this too, but still demonstrated her care by letting Hermione have these moments of exploration.

Hands rounded along and under, before moving up and grazing over hardened nipples. She tentatively slid her fingers around them and pinched softly. Her jaw clenched tight when Fleur groaned in response. She did it again, more firmly this time. More delicious noises. Fleur threaded her hands into Hermione’s hair before she expressed her own want and need. 

“I want your mouth,” she husked out. 

Heat flourished through Hermione’s body at the request. Without hesitating she leaned in and began to take the Veela’s breasts with her mouth. Her hands grabbed the woman’s waist as she listened to and responded to the sounds Fleur made, turning shy licks into wet bites. She felt the woman push her body in closer, before unexpectedly stepping away. 

Hermione founded her mouth dropping open again as she watched Fleur loop her thumbs under the hem of her panties and wink at her. She then, at a painstakingly slow pace, began to push them down long toned legs before stepping out of them. The blonde was teasing her, and all Hermione could do was stare. 

“Tell me if it is your desire to keep ze upper ‘and by wearing more clo’zes, or if you would like to even ze playing fields a bit by allowing me to undress you. Ei’zer works for me.” 

“Undress me,” Hermione rushed out. 

Fleur acquiesced. She moved forward and connected her lips with Hermione’s as she reached around the brunette’s back to effortlessly unclasp her white bra. Her mouth traveled to Hermione’s ear, nibbling, before kissing and biting her neck as she pulled the garment off. When she leaned back to look at what she had revealed, her eyes were overcome with darkness. She looked predatory and a thrill ran through Hermione. 

“Move back,” Fleur directed her in a soft yet firm voice. 

Hermione bit her bottom lip and complied. Breathing once again became difficult as she watched the naked goddess climb on the bed and crawl toward her. Hermione had never seen anything, or fantasized about anything, so erotic in her young life. And then Fleur was hovering over her; she paused and looked into her eyes in question. Again, Hermione nodded her consent. The Veela dipped her head down and the Gryffindor let out a small gasp as she felt soft lips graze against her abdomen, small nips here and there, then move down toward her pants. The heat in her belly spread lower and the anticipation of what was to come had her almost shaking. 

Fleur’s deft hands unbuttoned, unzipped, and pulled down pants and underwear quickly, leaving Hermione practically panting. Fast movement turned into slow touch. She felt the Veela’s hands begin a torturous ascent up her legs and she was trembling. Hermione was overwhelmed, her heartbeat erratic. She felt hands on her hips and hot breath against her center, but then they pulled away. 

“Talk to me, ‘Ermione,” a timid voice said gently. “We can stop at any time, if you are not ready.” Hermione had never seen the brave champion with that look upon her face before. Uncertainty. Fleur looked almost worried as she sat back on the bed, perhaps concerned that she’d pushed too far. 

“It’s not that, I’ve just never… I- I- I don’t want to stop. I do want this. Maybe start with something else first?” the younger witch stammered out.

She searched Fleur’s eyes and Fleur’s searched back. The blonde still seemed nervous and she wrapped her arms around herself as if to hide. Hermione wanted to soothe her, wanted to show her how much she wanted her. She reached out a hand toward the older girl. 

“Please touch me. Let me feel you. I want you. I need you.” 

Fleur’s arms loosened slowly, but she began to make her way back to the brunette, climbing up her body until they were face to face with Fleur straddling Hermione’s hips. Feeling the Veela’s skin against her own, the weight of her hips on her own, lips so close to her own, the Gryffindor’s body lit up with desire and she took the blonde by the back of the neck and pulled her in for another heated kiss. Fleur’s lips and tongue were perfect against hers. Hermione let out a moan and her eyes snapped open and met blue. 

“Are you sure?” whispered Fleur.

“Yes,” breathed Hermione with a small smile, her fingers playing with Fleur’s soft hair, trying to pull her down for another kiss. She was sure. She was more than sure.

Something dark flashed within the irises in above her and a fire descended through the brunette’s body, from her chest, through her stomach until it settled in her core. Fleur seemed to finally be reassured. 

Still straddling the brunette, the Veela sat up and licked her lips before she began to rock her hips. Hermione felt dizzy at the sight, the feel, the smell of Fleur. Just hours ago, they had been sending each other flirting glances from a distance, and now she was feeling her, touching her. Of their own volition her hands shot to Fleur’s waist to grab and hold and steady the brunette. Fleur’s center, pressed above her own, was wet against her, hot against her, and it felt. So. Damn. Good. The Veela smirked as if she knew and Hermione felt powerless. Powerless to pleasure, and powerless still as Fleur slid her still-gloved hand up the Gryffindor’s body, between her breasts, and over her throat until Hermione felt fingers pressing against her mouth, past her lips. 

Their eyes were locked and she wasn’t sure how but she knew what the blonde wanted. Or rather, somehow Fleur knew one of the things she’d been fantasizing about and was making it a reality. Hermione took one gloved finger between her teeth and bit down gently. The noise that emanated from the woman above her could only be described as a growl. She bit again, and then caught the fabric between her teeth as the blonde pulled her hand back until it was bare. Fleur’s lips curled almost into a snarl and those same deft fingers began to push more fabric into Hermione’s mouth and kept them there. The rhythm of her hips never stopped, and Hermione began to rock back. 

Fleur’s magnificent hands danced over the brunette’s skin until they made their way to her breasts. They cupped her only briefly before fingers pinched her nipples roughly.

The muffled noise that emitted from her mouth was not one that she had ever remembered making before. Both bodies stilled. She felt more wetness from Fleur’s center against her. The darkness flashed within the Veela’s eyes once more. Hunger. 

Fleur did it again and Hermione responded. Again. And hips resumed their rocking and Hermione did her best to keep on breathing as fingers and heat worked her into a frenzy, until the champion reached and pulled the glove from her mouth and pressed her lips against hers, gasps intermingling with her own. Fleur was so beautiful and it all felt so good and the Gryffindor felt a heat building inside until she was overcome. She let her mind go, let her body take the lead and rolled them both over so the blonde was on her back and Hermione was in control. This new dynamic sent a thrill through the younger witch. She shut her eyes, clenched her jaw, wrapped her arms beneath the Veela and began to rut against her. 

Something was building inside of her. Fleur was moaning louder and louder and her hands gripped tightly on Hermione’s back. Something was building inside. Fleur’s slick against her lower stomach, the heat, it was so damn good. Something was building. She let her body lead her as she took a pert nipple into her mouth, causing Fleur to cry out Hermione’s name and she couldn't help but to speed up her movements, reaching, climbing. Something was-

She had read about this. A “peak in arousal,” the words flashed across her mind. An intense pleasure, a climax, accompanied by contractions in muscles. Some women could experience something called- called- 

Hermione cried out as she peaked, clenching Fleur closer, burying her face in her neck as her body started shaking and there was a rush of wetness between her legs. She trembled through the waves of pleasure until she finally fell limp on top of the blonde. 

Fleur didn’t let her rest long and she found herself pushed onto her back once again. The Veela looked feral, felt feral. Hermione was ready for more, but suddenly felt very unsure of herself. She didn’t know what to do. 

“Ze next lesson,” the blonde began as she picked up the forgotten glove. “Is best taught zrough application.”

Fleur touched the glove gently to her own face, letting out a sigh of relief at the sensation, before bringing it forward and pressing it to Hermione’s. The Gryffindor’s spellwork made the fabric cool against her flushed skin. She inhaled sharply as the blonde slowly dragged it down her neck, over collarbone, breast, stomach, to just underneath her navel, leaving a brisk trail that sent chills through her until Fleur put the glove back down. She then reached for Hermione’s hand, gently squeezing it before guiding it between her legs. Breathing again became difficult. 

“Ma petite lionne, I want to feel you ‘ere. I want to show you ‘ow. Do you also want zis?”

“Yes,” her answer was immediate.

Her mouth went dry as she watched Fleur raise herself up enough to slide Hermione’s hand to her core, to guide her fingers through folds. 

“So wet,” whispered words escaped the younger witch without thought. 

“You did zat,” a low voice responded. 

Fleur let Hermione explore for a small time before guiding the brunette’s hand to a small bundle of nerves. Fingertips grazed against it and the Veela let out a shuddering breath. Hermione’s breath caught. Fleur moved her hand again, slow strokes across her clit with the brunette’s digits turned into circular movements around it. Hermione watched in awe, completely taken by the sounds and vision above her. The Veela’s blonde hair, her pale skin, seemed to be almost glowing in the mix of the dancing blue flames and the moonlight pouring in from the window. Her sighs sounded like music luring Hermione into a state of bliss. 

“Inside... please,” Fleur husked out, before pulling at Hermione’s hand and guiding two fingers into her. 

The younger witch went rigid at the sensation. Hot, tight, slick, heavenly. She almost wanted to stop, to memorize this feeling of being inside Fleur, the girl who she felt so inexplicably drawn to, the girl who had permanently invaded her heart and mind. Then she heard a sound. This time she knew the noise that came from Fleur was a growl. Something close to a growl of her own poured out as she watched the Veela begin to fuck herself on Hermione’s hand, rising up and down and up and down and Hermione was sure she must be under some kind of spell. She was hypnotized. Growls and whines were released into the air from them both and the Gryffindor’s brain started kicking into gear as soon as Fleur began chanting her name. She began to buck her own hips in time with the Veela’s.

“Your thumb,” the older woman demanded before guiding Hermione’s thumb to press against her clit as she continued to rise and fall on top of the brunette. 

Hermione did as she was told and was rewarded with more of Fleur’s arousal on her fingers and louder chanting. She could do this, she was a fast learner after all. The brunette let her mind go, let her body take the lead as she sat up, wrapped her other arm around the Veela’s back, and followed her instincts to take the woman fiercely. This was what she could plunder from Fleur. She set a cruel and merciless pace in search of what she could take. Hermione felt Fleur’s grip on her wrist loosen and when she looked up she saw blue eyes flutter closed. When the blonde released her wrist and threw her arms around the brunette’s shoulders, Hermione knew the Veela had given herself over to her. The woman thrusted back in time with Hermione’s assault. The Gryffindor could feel something building inside of the blonde. She was tightening around her fingers. She could feel something building inside her. The Veela was practically sobbing out her name, fingers dug into skin and scalp. She could feel-

And there it was, her reward. Fleur stiffened and silenced. Bodies clung tightly to one another. The room was filled with the sounds of Hermione’s rapid panting and her hand still working in and out of the Veela’s drenched center. The body on top of her started trembling and then the room was filled with the wail of Fleur Delacour coming undone and to ruin by the Gryffindor. It was the sweetest sound she had ever heard.

They fell together onto the bed entangled. Fleur looked spent, but Hermione wanted more. As much as she could take, as much as she could give, Hermione wanted more. And Fleur had told her to ask for what she most desired. 

“Fleur,” her voice was hoarse. 

“Oui?” the Veela sighed out. 

“You’re wonderful and I can’t stop.” Gone was the bashfulness that had laced her voice earlier on. “I’m not finished with you yet. Can I have more?”

Fleur’s cheeks flushed and she bit her lower lip. Hermione felt a predatory instinct take over her at the sight. 

“Oui. Always. All of me. You can ‘ave me any way you like.”

"And I'd like it, I'm ready... for you to take more of me, too."

Hermione greedily learned as many things, took as many opportunities, and gave as much of herself as she could until they both collapsed, finally sated. Fleur wrapped herself in Hermione’s arms and assumed the position of little spoon. Hermione felt a warmth spread through her chest at this. She felt full. She felt safe, secure, connected and at peace. She fell asleep with a smile upon her lips.

*::::*

Hermione woke up and it was still dark. She was on her side and she felt the heat of the body in front of her. Fleur Delacour. Her backside against Hermione’s front. Heat flushed through her at the feeling of their skin pressed together and at the memory of their earlier exertions. It hadn’t all gone smoothly; there had been missteps and laughter but in her mind it had been perfect. Carefully rolling away from Fleur, she lay on her back staring up at the ceiling. She estimated only about a couple of hours had passed since they fell asleep, which meant dawn was in a couple of hours. If she left now she had a better chance of getting back inside the castle without getting caught. After dawn and she risked having to get around early risers.

The logistics of getting back inside were a good yet brief distraction for Hermione. She didn’t want to think about what their night together meant to Fleur or how they would treat each other in the light of day. Strangers? Friends? More than friends? Yesterday Fleur had implied a romance but what if those were just words? What if tonight was all it was ever going to be?

“Too much zinking, ‘Ermione. Go back to sleep,” murmured Fleur, turning around to face Hermione and throwing an arm over her waist.

“Sorry,” whispered the Gryffindor, biting her lip at the sight of the naked woman beside her. Fleur looked so soft and comfortable, and so unlike the writhing woman that fell apart at her hands and mouth just hours ago. How Fleur’s mouth felt when Hermione needed more than her fingers. How she sounded when Hermione surprised her with her own tongue. How Fleur’s teeth felt whenever she nipped and bit. The younger witch raised a hand and brushed her fingers against her neck, feeling the tenderness of the marks that were surely there. Hermione blushed and smiled to herself when she noticed the love bites she’d left behind on Fleur’s breasts. Their night had been unforgettable. Their connection forever seared into her skin. And now… now she was torn about how it was going to end. About how she didn’t want it to end.

Figuring she could use another hour of sleep before sneaking back in, and wanting to put off a flustered, embarrassing goodbye, Hermione closed her eyes. But her mind wouldn’t give her any peace. She kept analyzing Fleur’s motivations, and her own. Hermione had to talk to Fleur.

“Fleur,” she whispered. When the blonde didn’t stir, she spoke the name again.

That’s when the arm over her waist pulled her closer to the French woman, who nuzzled into Hermione’s neck, sending goosebumps down her arms and legs.

“I know somezing that’ll ‘elp get you back to sleep, ma chèrie,” teased the Veela, nibbling the side of Hermione’s throat.

Hermione lightly snorted and smiled, turning to her side to face the blonde whose eyes were still closed.

“How can you still have the energy?” asked Hermione. Sure, she was wide awake but that didn’t mean she wasn’t exhausted.

Fleur opened her eyes and gave her a soft smile.

“You inspire me, ‘Ermione Granger. You make being at zis dreadful school worthwhile.”

Hermione bit her lip, choosing to ignore the slight against her beloved Hogwarts. “What about the tournament? Aren’t you here to win it?”

“I will do my best, of course, but…” Fleur trailed off and raised a hand to push back strands of Hermione’s hair behind her ear. When she spoke again, her voice was shy and quiet. “But if I won, and didn’t ‘ave you, zen I really would ‘ave lost.”

“We barely know each other, Fleur,” countered Hermione, but she still blushed at Fleur’s words. It pleased her to hear how much the Veela wanted her. Did Fleur want the same thing? Was this really the beginning?

“I know,” answered Fleur coyly with a slight shrug. “But it’s as I said, tonight was inevitable, and now we ‘ave ze rest of ze year to get to know everyzing else zat matters, oui?”

At that, Hermione felt a surge of happiness and lunged forward, straddling the blonde and kissing her.

Fleur giggled under Hermione’s kisses. “You didn’t really zink I would let you go after tonight, did you?”

“I don’t know what I thought. Maybe? You’re just… I mean, you’re amazing, and I’m just… I’m nobody…”

“Shhh,” Fleur interrupted, pulling Hermione down into another kiss, this one even more breathtaking than the last.

“You are ‘Ermione Granger, ze brightest witch I ‘ave ever met,” Fleur whispered into Hermione’s mouth. Blue eyes looked up at her adoringly. “You are ze amazing one, mon coeur. It is I zat worry you won’t want me to be your girlfriend.”

“Girlfriend?” stammered Hermione. Her heart swelled. It was everything she wanted.

“Oui, of course. It is what I want,” Fleur answered, a slight tremor entering her voice. Hermione could see the doubt enter her eyes. “Is… is it what you want or was tonight just…”

This time it was Hermione that shushed her with a kiss, maneuvering until she settled her full weight between Fleur’s legs.

“Yes. Yes. Yes.”

She punctuated each affirmation with kisses that dragged down Fleur’s neck until she reached her collarbone and bit down, wanting to leave another mark. Fleur gasped and arched into Hermione, feeling slender fingers dig into her back and wetness against her stomach. The brunette smiled at the blonde’s reaction.

Her girlfriend’s reaction.

Maybe Hermione wouldn’t be getting back inside the castle until after dawn after all.


End file.
